


Diaval Discovers...

by OfTheMoors



Category: Maleficent (Disney Movies)
Genre: Discoveries, One Shot Collection, Silly, Sudden Humanity Is Confusing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22569976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfTheMoors/pseuds/OfTheMoors
Summary: When you've spent your life as a raven, suddenly finding yourself a human is bound to be confusing.  Diaval no doubt went through a lengthy period of discovery when Maleficent first changed him into a man.  This will ultimately be a series of one-shots which look at the various human things which Diaval learned about through the years, as he went from being a raven wearing a man-suit to the man-bird he was by Mistress of Evil (because let's be honest - as much as he continues to protest that he's a raven, he's spent so much time as a human by that point that he's really kind of both, isn't he?)Chapter Ratings:Chapter 1: GChapter 2: GChapter 3: GChapter 4: TChapter 5: GChapter 6: GChapter 7: TChapter 8: MChapter 9: GChapter 10: GIf there's anything in particular that you'd like to request Diaval discovering, shoot me a message or leave a comment!
Relationships: Aurora & Diaval (Disney), Diaval & Maleficent (Disney)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 99





	1. Diaval Discovers... Fingers and Toes

It had been mere days since his life had changed completely, and Diaval’s head had barely stopped spinning.

It was confusing, this human form. Strange and solid and clunky, but at the same time, very novel. The ground was so much further away than when he stood in his true form. He could reach things without having to fly. And talking – talking! Being able to express himself so eloquently was rather exciting, truth be told. Granted, the only one he was actually speaking to was his mistress, but he was able to communicate his observations far better in this form. He liked words.

But then there were the really _really_ strange parts.

Diaval sat barefoot beside his mistress’ throne in the Heart of the Moors with his legs stretched out before him. Even sitting was strange in this form. His posterior was actually making contact with the ground, and his feet were in no way involved. He hadn’t realized how hard and cold the ground actually was until he had put his bottom onto it and stayed there for a time.

He held up a… what was it? Hand, that’s right, this bit was called _hand_ – in front of his face, wiggling the five strange long appendages on the end. They bent in the middle in two places, and he could bend each one individually. His mistress had named these things _fingers_ , and Diaval assumed that humans used them for _finging_ things. He didn’t have these in his true form – they had formed from his wings. No good for flapping, these, but they gripped quite well. He could hold things. He could pick small things up with relative ease, which was something of a novelty. Ordinarily, he would have had to use his beak. 

The claws on the end resembled his lovely talons, though, which was comforting.

Then there were his feet. Human feet were hideous. Horribly chunky-looking and clunky compared to his narrow, graceful bird feet. There were five appendages on each of his feet too, but unlike the hand-fingers, these foot-fingers were shorter and stubbier and practically useless for picking up anything. They were far too short to grip a tree branch. He couldn’t even move most of them on their own as he could with the hand-fingers. Diaval honestly didn’t see the point of the foot-fingers, but wiggling them felt interesting, so he did it, watching them with an eyebrow raised.

Still wiggling his foot-fingers, Diaval raised both hands in front of his eyes and wiggled his hand-fingers in ripples.

He bent each one to oppose the large finger (what had his mistress called it? Dumb? Tum? Crumb? Something like that), moving from one side to the other and back again. 

He pushed the tips of his fingers together and looked through the gaps. He closed his fingers together and the gaps were gone.

A slight movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Diaval started, mindful of possible danger, until he remembered that he was far less vulnerable in his human form than he was as a raven.

“What are you doing?” came a sardonic question. Oh. She was back.

“Um… wiggling my fingers?” Diaval replied. His mistress’ eyebrow twitched. “And my foot-fingers? They're quite interesting, you know.”

His mistress rolled her eyes.

“I need you to go back to Perceforest and see if you can hear anything about King Stefan,” – she hissed the name – “And report back to me as soon as you know anything.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She raised a hand to change him but paused. “Diaval?”

“Yes, Mistress?”

“They’re called toes. The ones on your feet. Toes.” With that, she waved her hand and Diaval took on his true form. He went soaring into the sky toward Perceforest.

Toes.

What a stupid name.


	2. Diaval Discovers... His Face

Despite the gloom which had settled upon the Moors since Maleficent had declared herself Queen, it was a beautiful day.

The sun was warm, and the water dotted in pools throughout the landscape sparkled in the light. The breeze hinted at the delicate scent of something floral.

Diaval followed his mistress toward one such pool of water, having been left in his human form for reasons that she deigned to share with him. They skirted around the edge of the water, feet crunching into the stones surrounding it. It was a satisfying sort of sound, and Diaval found himself planting his feet a bit harder than was strictly necessary in order to keep making it.

His mistress continued along the edge of the pool, driven onwards by an unspoken goal that her hapless servant was not privy to, but Diaval stopped and peered down into the still, clear water. He was taken aback at what he saw.

Reflected in the water was a human face which took his breath away.

A pale face, with scars around the eyes which added rather than took away from the attractiveness of the features. Soft ebony hair, interspersed with lovely feathers, fell gently around well-shaped cheekbones and a strong jaw. A nose which was pointed at the end, as his beak was in his true form. Diaval liked that. Inky raven eyes stared back at him from the all-too-human face. His own eyes. They hadn’t changed as the rest of his body had.

He realized that he was holding his breath.

“Diaval?” his mistress said suddenly. She had clearly noticed that he had stopped, and had made her way back to him. “What are you looking at?”

“Me. I’m looking at _me_.” Diaval replied in awe. “I’m _beautiful_ , Mistress. I’m not my beautiful self, but this self is almost as beautiful too.”

His mistress huffed, and he could almost feel her rolling her eyes at him. She moved beside him, her reflection joining his in the water.

She was really quite beautiful too, Diaval observed. Her face was quite different from his – striking, but not in the same way as his was. Her sharp cheekbones, crimson lips and bright green-gold eyes gave her an unearthly appearance. He liked their reflections together.

He knelt by the water in order to see his own face better, smiling at his reflection.

Mesmerized, he didn’t notice his mistress’ foot moving until it was too late.

In fairness, she didn’t kick him. It was a gentle nudge. The effect, however, was entirely the same, and before he realized what was happening, Diaval found himself tumbling headfirst into the pool of water.

Splashing and spluttering, he sat up in time to see his mistress walking away, muttering, “Vain bird…”

He looked back into the water at his reflection.

Sopping wet, yes. 

But still beautiful.


	3. Diaval Discovers... His Navel

Diaval had never taken his shirt off before.

He’d had no need to, of course. In the weeks since his mistress had saved his life, he had spent most of his time as a raven, not a man. He’d preened and cleaned himself in his raven form, only taking on a human shape when his mistress needed him to be able to speak. He’d never had a need to undress himself as a human until this moment.

Diaval supposed that he could wait until he was returned to his true form before washing, but the mud on his back sat thickly and uncomfortably against him, and he wasn’t sure when his mistress would return from wherever she had stalked off to. Blasted Wallerbogs and their penchant for mudslinging! He was generally fairly adept at avoiding their volleys, but on this occasion, he had been taken by surprise and had fallen victim to an attack from behind.

Right. The shirt. How did it come off?

Diaval examined the fastenings. Little wooden discs which seemed to thread through small holes in order to keep the shirt from opening – so in theory, if he threaded the discs back through the holes, the shirt should be removable.

It seemed to be simple enough in theory, but each of the three little discs took far more dexterity to manipulate than he had anticipated. By the time he had freed the final disc, Diaval was hissing a string of profanities – he’d learned these early on from some of the castle guards and rather enjoyed the feeling of them on his tongue when he was frustrated – and was firmly convinced that human clothing was even stupider than their pointless toes. Why did they bother covering themselves with these things, anyway? Were they ashamed of their bodies? Sure enough, a human body was not a patch on the beautiful form of a raven, but they were far from hideous things. Even his mistress wore clothing to hide her beautiful self, and she wasn’t human at all. None of it made sense to Diaval.

He pulled the shirt from his back and dipped it into the clean water adjacent to the Wallerbogs’ mud patch, swishing and swirling it around to remove the worst of the mud. Pulling it from the water, he wrung it out as best he could, and laid it flat upon a rock to dry before he attempted to put it back on. He wasn’t looking forward to tackling those ridiculous discs in reverse.

Diaval sat on a rock beside his shirt, humming a little tune. Humming was fun. It felt tickly in his throat, and he could make all sorts of sounds in this form.

He looked down at himself, his head tilting to one side and his eyebrow twitching in intrigue. What an odd thing this human chest was! A large scar ran down the middle, and he vaguely recalled how he had come by it – an argument with a hawk in which he had come off second best, although in hindsight, the fact that he had survived the encounter at all implied that he had won. Diaval wasn’t able to see the scar when he was in his beautiful raven form, and he was slightly shocked at how severe it actually was. He really had been fortunate to survive the incident, it seemed.

Either side of the scar sat a little pinkish spot. Diaval poked one of the spots with his finger. He jumped – it was far more sensitive than he’d realized. He stroked it again and noted that the center stiffened beneath his finger and poked out. What on Earth could these things be for? Other than being amusing to play with, they didn’t seem to have a point. Like toes and clothing. Humans were strange.

He dragged his finger lower, tracing the scar and then moving below. His human skin was softer than he’d imagined it would be. That was surprising. Were all humans this soft? Some of them looked as though they were made of leather, with rough, dirty skin, weathered by sunlight and years. Surely skin like that couldn’t feel this velvety?

Fae skin was probably this velvety, though. Maybe even more so.

Suddenly, Diaval’s finger slipped into an unexpected depression, and he yelped in surprise. Eyes widening, he looked down at his stomach to see his finger in a _hole_. A hole! Why was there a hole there? Had he injured himself without realizing it? There was no pain or blood, but he was clearly injured.

Was it deep, this injury?

Diaval gingerly poked his finger into the hole, sliding it in as far as it would go. As far as the first knuckle! A deep, no doubt mortal wound on his beautiful self, and he had been so busy spying on the human king that he hadn’t even noticed it, nor could he recall how he had been injured in the first place.

He closed his eyes and allowed himself a single, heart-wrenching sob at the unfolding tragedy.

“What is the matter with you?” came a voice.

Diaval kept his eyes closed, but answered with a heartbreaking sigh, “I’m dying, Mistress. I’ve been wounded and I don’t even know how.”

“Wounded? Where?”

“Here.” Diaval gestured, opening his eyes to gaze sadly at his mistress. She would never admit to it, but she would miss him when he was gone, he knew it. “I have a hole in me, Mistress. A _hole_! And I can’t even recall how it came to be there.”

His mistress said nothing, but held his gaze, blinking slowly in a way which suggested disbelief. Diaval suspected that she was processing the news of his impending demise, and steeling herself to keep from bursting into tears. Surely.

He certainly did not expect the corners of her lips to twitch and begin to curl up, and he definitely did not expect a peal of laughter to erupt from her, as beautiful as birdsong.

He was quite offended.

“I’m over here _dying_ , Mistress, and you’re _laughing_ about it?”

His indignation only served to make her laugh harder. It would have been a delightful sound, had he not been on the brink of death. Diaval wasn’t sure what to think anymore – perhaps his mistress really _was_ evil?

Trying to compose herself, his mistress gasped and held her stomach, stifling her giggles with a snort. “You’re not dying, you inane creature.”

“But I have a hole right here-”

“Yes, you do. It’s not a wound, though. It’s supposed to be there. All humans have them. A lot of faeries do too. It’s called a navel, and you’d be a strange sort of human if you _didn’t_ have one.”

“I’m _supposed_ to have a hole in me? What sort of strangeness is that? _Why do humans have so many pointless bits on their bodies, Mistress??_ ” Diaval exclaimed, as embarrassed as he was relieved.

“Because they’re humans, and humans are pointless creatures?”

Diaval considered this answer. “Do you have one of those navel things, Mistress?”

She paused. “Yes.”

“Can I see it?” She glared at him, and he raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, no navel-gazing. Forget I asked.”

“I intend to. I don’t like these personal questions from you. Now put your shirt back on, I have a job for you.” She paused again, a hint of a smirk on her face. “If you’re that shocked by having a navel, Diaval, then clearly you’ve not yet had a look at what is in your pants, have you?”


	4. Diaval Discovers... What Is In His Pants

_“If you’re that shocked by having a navel, Diaval, then clearly you’ve not yet had a look at what is in your pants, have you?”_

His mistress’ words rattled through his brain, a memory which could not seem to let him be. A mystery which Diaval was keen to get to the bottom of, but one that he had not yet had the chance to investigate, as his mistress had seldom allowed him time in his man-shape since speaking those words. Other than the briefest of minutes in which he gave her his reports, he found himself almost continually in the form of a raven, and for the first time since becoming her servant he wasn’t thrilled to be in his true form.

He was intrigued.

Diaval suspected that his mistress knew that he was keen to investigate the mystery of the contents of his pants, and that was why she was keeping him a raven as much as possible. She had a truly devilish sense of humor, that woman.

He hadn’t really noticed anything when he’d dressed that first time, covered in mud and dirt and shocked to his core to suddenly have long, gangly limbs and hardly a feather in sight. What was this secret that his mistress had alluded to? It was either something utterly dreadful or very special, Diaval concluded.

It was late on a snowy afternoon when he returned from Perceforest with very little to relate to his mistress, other than plans for a state dinner in honor of King Stefan’s upcoming birthday or the interesting fact that the Queen had apparently been indulging in far too many pastries, and was looking quite rotund these days. His mistress had looked vaguely interested, but had been suddenly distracted by the sound of a falling branch nearby, no doubt broken under the sheer weight of the snow. As she made her way toward the source of the sound, Diaval realized that his chance had finally come. 

Besides, he needed to pee.

Scampering off in the opposite direction to his mistress, Diaval found a small grove which afforded him a bit of privacy. His hands fell to the lacing on his pants.

Right. Knots.

Damnable human clothing!

It took several frustrating minutes to work out how to untie the knots on his pants, but Diaval managed it. No doubt his mistress had finished with the tree already – he’d better make this quick.

He dropped his pants and nearly screamed.

_What. The. Actual. Hell. was that maggoty-looking thing!?_

Diaval stared in horror, frozen in place in the snow. Was this a normal human thing? Maggots attached to the crotch? It was so ugly! How could such an ugly thing be a normal part of such a beautiful human-shape as himself? Why were humans so _confusing_!?

His shock was cut short by the urgency in his bladder. There was another thing – he’d never passed water or waste in this form. It was easy enough in his true form, but his true form had no extra holes or maggot attachments, and he wasn’t really sure how it all worked.

 _Oh well,_ Diaval thought, _here goes nothing._ He squeezed his internal muscles, just a little, and was dismayed when a dribble came from the end of the maggot and splashed onto his pants. Oh no. The maggot was for peeing. He was going to have to touch it so that he didn’t soil himself.

Damnit.

Diaval gingerly poked the maggot. Oh gods above, it was squishy. He pulled a face, took a deep breath, and took the maggot in his hand.

_Okay, Diaval, you can do this. It’s just peeing. From a maggot. From a maggot attached to your beautiful self. You’ve got this, you magnificent raven. You’ve got this._

Wincing, Diaval clenched his muscles again, and a stream of urine issued from the end of the maggot in his hand and sizzled as it hit the snow, leaving a mark.

Diaval raised an eyebrow.

He tried again, but this time, moved around to direct his stream, leaving far more deliberate marks in the pristine white carpet beneath him. This… was almost fun.

Finally, empty, he pulled up his pants again and admired his handiwork.

“Diaval? Where are you?” he heard from behind him.

“I’m over here, Mistress! I’ll just be a moment-” Too late. She was already behind him.

“There you are.”

He turned to face her with a grin. “Look what I did!”

She peered at the shapes he had made in the snow with his stream and raised an eyebrow. “You… drew a bird.”

“I drew a _raven_.” Diaval beamed proudly. “It’s an ugly thing, this human crotch-maggot, but I can use it to draw in the snow with. It’s far more useful than a navel. Or clothing. Or toes.”

“…crotch-maggot?” his mistress replied weakly.

“Yes, it looks just like a maggot – did you want to see?” Diaval asked, hands moving to drop his pants again. She held up a hand and took a step back.

“No, Diaval, I absolutely do _not_ want to see. Do up your pants.”

“Um… I can’t. I don’t know how to make knots.”

His mistress sighed a truly enormous sigh, and knelt in front of him, deftly lacing up the front of his pants. “Well, I know what we’re going to be doing this afternoon, then. I can’t be having to dress you all the time. Come on, I’m going to teach you how to tie knots.” She stalked off through the snow, leaving Diaval to follow.

He cast one last look at his wonderful artwork, smiled, and went after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, you were all hoping that Diaval would discover the OTHER use for his crotch-maggot... in time, my darlings, in time... once the shock wears off...


	5. Diaval Discovers... Her Name and Her Story

He hadn’t known what she’d been planning when they went to the castle for the baby’s christening.

Truthfully, he suspected that she hadn’t had a plan at all, and had played the whole curse thing by ear. Had one of the christening gifts been a horse, she’d have cursed the baby princess to a sleep like death after a bite from a cranky pony. The spinning wheel spindle had been nothing more than a spur of the moment decision, as his mistress swiftly made things up as she went along. She had owned it, though, and had made it look as though she had been planning the curse meticulously for months. Diaval did not understand the particulars of it – true love’s kiss? What was that supposed to be? And why had she included it? – but as much as he disagreed with her methods and the injustice of cursing an innocent child, he couldn’t help but be impressed at her style. She did have quite the flair for the dramatic when she wanted it.

But from the whispers and the king’s shock, Diaval had learned one thing that evening which he had not yet known.

“ _Maleficent_.” he whispered, her name rolling off his tongue. Lyrical, it was. It had a music to it. An evil sort of sound despite the beauty of it, but a name which fit her perfectly nonetheless. “Mal-e-fi-cent, Maleficent.”

Of course, Diaval knew better than to actually address his mistress by her given name. Had it been her preference, she would have insisted upon it from the first, but she hadn’t actually told him her proper name at all. Clearly it wasn’t supposed to be a secret, as every single man, woman and child besides himself had apparently already known it, but names had power to them. He sensed that it would not be a welcome development if he began to use her name. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The curse, though. Why had she done that? He had been spying on the king of Perceforest for her for over a year, and yet he had no true idea of _why_ she was having him do it. Some sort of vendetta, obviously, but what could the king have done to her?

He’d done _something_ , Diaval knew that much. She’d said as much in a fit of rage, the night that he had brought her back news of the coronation. _“He did this to me so that he could be king.”_

‘This’? What was ‘this’? What had Stefan done to his mistress?

It was dangerous to ask her anything beyond the mundane, and even then, it could be perilous depending on her mood. Diaval had to ask, though. He had to know why he was doing this. Why _she_ was doing this.

“Mistress?” he asked, approaching her carefully. She looked… amused. Dangerously so.

“What?”

“I was wondering if I could ask you…” he faltered. He was going to end up a beetle for this, he just knew it. Maybe even a dog.

“What?” she asked darkly.

“What is a kiss? You said that the princess could be woken with true love’s kiss – well, I know what love is, but what is a kiss? Is it a kind of food?” Diaval figured that asking about the kiss thing might be a good lead-in to the rest of his questions. Besides which, he was intrigued by it.

His mistress – Maleficent – stared at him for several agonizing moments, as though trying to decide whether to answer his question or blow him to pieces. Finally, with a look which could freeze ice itself, she responded, “A kiss is supposed to be a sign of affection. Pressing mouths together. A lot of creatures do it as a mating behavior, but sometimes not. Sometimes it is just meant to signify love. A kiss is a lie.”

Diaval nodded slightly. So the kiss of a true love would be from one who truly meant it. Perhaps not a lie, if it were meant genuinely.

Maleficent closed her eyes as though in pain, and leaned back into her throne. “He kissed me once.” She opened her eyes again and locked them onto Diaval’s. “Stefan. He told me that it was true love’s kiss. He lied. And now he is king of the liars.”

Diaval sat at her feet, looking up at her. “Mistress… I know it’s not my place to ask, but I can see that it pains you. Please… please tell me what he did to you. Why you have me watch him. Why you cursed the baby. What did he do to you which made you hate him so?”

Her eyes flashed green, and Diaval shrank down in fear, expecting her to magic him into a cockroach. To his surprise, the color faded, and his mistress suddenly seemed very small. Tired. Full of unspoken grief.

Somewhere deep within him, his human form instincts wanted to hold her until she smiled again, but he knew that it would probably be a fatal decision. He stayed put.

Maleficent shuffled forward on her throne, and reached up to unfasten her cloak. Holding his gaze, she said softly, “I will show you.”

She turned her back to him and pulled the cloak from her shoulders. There, between her shoulder blades, lay two raw wounds, ragged stumps through which bone could still be seen. Diaval gasped in horror. “Mistress…”

“You are my wings because I no longer have my own. They were stolen from me. I trusted him, and he took my wings from me so that the humans would make him their king.” Maleficent pulled the cloak back around her shoulders and turned to face Diaval. “Stefan was my friend. More than that, in fact. On my sixteenth birthday, he kissed me – he called it _true love’s kiss_.” she spat. “All lies. He wanted the treasures of the Moors just like every other human. He wanted power. He stole the one thing I loved most of all, because I was a fool to trust him. Now, he will pay. He will watch his precious daughter grow to be sixteen, young and sweet and innocent as I was, and he will see her sleep for eternity. He will suffer for as long as he lives, as I will suffer by his actions for as long as I do.”

Diaval couldn’t think of an appropriate response. He felt sick. He felt dizzy. Even in his human form, he could always count on having his wings back before too long. The idea of having them and losing them forever, betrayed by someone thought to be a friend…

The world swam, and Diaval had to put his head between his knees. “I’m sorry, Mistress.” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

He looked up, though the edges of his vision remained blotchy and dark. Maleficent sat on her throne, watching him with a curious expression on her face. Had Diaval not known better, he would have interpreted it as concern.

He rose to his knees, ignoring the dizziness in his head, and despite knowing that it was unwise he grasped her hands in his. “Whatever you need, Mistress. I don’t know about this curse, but I will do whatever you need me to do to make things right. I promise.” he vowed.

It was all he could do.


	6. Diaval Discovers... Human Babies

He had to admit that the princess, from what little he’d seen of her, was a cute little thing. Maybe, just maybe, even cuter than a raven hatchling. Maybe.

She squawked like a hatchling, though, crying for food and attention, and Diaval found his patience with the three pixies, charged with the child’s care, wearing thin in very short order.

It couldn’t be that hard to care for a human hatchling. Humans kept their hatchlings alive all the time – that was why there were so many of the dratted creatures in the world. They pumped out hatchlings as though their very lives depended upon it, and then sent them unprepared into the wider world to wreak havoc on those around them.

Despite this, it became clear within the first days of the pixies’ tenure at the forest cottage that they were woefully inadequate for the task ahead of them.

“It’s going to starve with those three looking after it!” Maleficent hissed through clenched teeth, her hands pressing firmly into her ears to drown out the sound of the hatchling’s wailing. Diaval flew down from his perch in the tree nearby and landed on her knee, cocking his head. 

“Awk?”

She regarded him for a moment. “If the little beast is going to survive to see the curse fulfilled, we may actually have to see to caring for it. Although I have to admit, part of me would like to see those idiots trying to explain to Stefan that they’ve accidentally starved his daughter to death through their own incompetence. It’s difficult to know _what_ to do, really.” Maleficent sneered.

Diaval pecked roughly at her fingers and shook his feathers at her. She hissed and swatted at him in retaliation, narrowing her eyes, before twirling her fingers and changing him without warning.

“Oof!” Diaval exclaimed, landing hard in her lap. Maleficent shoved him off with a glare, as though ending up on top of her had somehow been entirely his fault.

“It wouldn’t be right to let the wee hatchling starve, Mistress. Curse or no curse, she’s only a little one. She doesn’t understand anything.” he stated firmly from where he had fallen on the hard ground beside her. “But how can we look after her without the pixies knowing about it? If they see you…”

“They won’t see me, because you’ll be the one doing it, Diaval. And I can always put them to sleep should I need to go near the little beast for any reason – not that I have any desire to do so.”

Diaval raised an eyebrow. “I can’t go to the baby as a man. They’ll chase me off with brooms. But what can I do as a raven?”

Maleficent rose and stomped toward the Moors. “Come, Diaval.” she called over her shoulder. He stood and followed her through the wall of thorns, utterly confused. They walked for some time – the sun dipping low in the sky and shadows falling across the land – until at last they reached a patch of odd little fat flowers from which dripped a milky fluid.

“These are Milkblooms. They will easily feed the young ones of the Moors should their mothers be unable to do so. I see no reason why they could not feed a human infant as well. You can easily carry one of these in your raven form, so that at the very least the creature won’t starve to death.” Maleficent bent and picked one of the Milkblooms. Magic spun from her fingers as she stood again. “Into a bird.”

Diaval squawked, flapped, and landed on Maleficent’s shoulder. She handed him the Milkbloom and he grasped it firmly in his beak.

“Take that, sneak in and feed the beast. No doubt those pixie idiots are oblivious enough that you will go unnoticed.”

Diaval cawed as best he could with his mouth full and took off for the cottage again.

Night had fallen completely by the time Diaval made it back, and the three pixies had already retired. The little hatching wailed pitifully, unheard by her carers, and Diaval’s gentle raven heart broke. The poor wee thing. No baby should go unheard.

He flew in through an open window, landing softly beside the child’s cradle. She whimpered as he offered up the Milkbloom, latching onto it immediately and suckling hungrily.

Diaval cocked his head affectionately. She was a sweet little hatchling. Fair locks of soft hair curled upon the top of her head like chick down, and eyes the color of the summer sky. He’d not seen eyes quite like that before, and Diaval thought them very beautiful indeed. Her chubby, dimpled fingers gripped the Milkbloom, and she regarded him seriously as she meticulously drained it. Perhaps human hatchlings were this adorable on purpose – to entice those around them to care for them? Diaval certainly found himself won over. Humans were generally horrible beings, but their little ones were rather delightful, in their own way. It was a shame that they had to grow up.

He reached out a clawed foot and grasped the side of the child’s cradle, rocking it gently. The hatchling’s eyelids began to droop, and the Milkbloom slipped from her fingers. Diaval continued to rock her until he was sure that she was asleep, and made to leave.

He paused, and took one last look at her. A feeling of protectiveness and nascent love bloomed within his chest at the sight of her peaceful little face – was it possible to have affection for the wee hatchling already? His mistress would be horrified. He was supposed to loathe the child as much as she did, not be charmed by her.

Diaval didn’t care. He knew within his very soul that he would protect this small human to the best of his ability, whether his mistress liked it or not. He hopped onto the side of the cradle and carefully rubbed his head against her delicate cheek, crooning softly in an expression of corvid affection. It was a sound that he would have made to his own hatchlings, had he had them.

With barely more than the faintest flutter of feathers, Diaval took off and flew through the window; back to the Moors and to his mistress, who hated the child _so completely_ , he thought with the avian equivalent of a smile, that she too could not bear to let her starve.


	7. Diaval Discovers... Human Mating Behaviors

In the late afternoon on a bright spring day, Diaval swooped downward toward one of his favourite places outside of the Moors.

It was a good place, this. He visited often, when he was not gathering information, spending time with little Aurora, or enjoying the company of his mistress.

It was an innocuous dark red building, no different in appearance to the countless others which dotted the landscape, but inside this particular one was a treasure trove. The humans called this building a _barn_ , and stored on a mezzanine near the ceiling was a cornucopia of food – wheat and corn and grains of all types. More than any one raven could possibly eat, even if that raven was as hungry as Diaval was now.

He alighted on the upper windowsill and hopped down to the numerous sacks of stacked food. A mouse had already managed to make a hole in one, and corn spilled from the opening. _Hmm,_ Diaval thought, _Food giving me food. Mice are such useful things. Delicious, too._

He helped himself to the corn, pecking into the sack to release more of the delicious bounty onto the floor and filling his belly. There was so much that even his own personal feast was unlikely to be noticed.

The noise of the barn door opening beneath him startled Diaval into attention, and he dropped the corn kernel in his beak. Peering down from the mezzanine nervously, he spotted two humans sneaking into the barn below.

Diaval slowly began to sidle up to the window, trying to keep from drawing attention to himself until he was sure that he could escape easily. He had almost made it when the humans captured his attention again.

What were they doing?

He tilted his head and regarded them curiously. The male human was murmuring something to the female – Diaval couldn’t hear his words – and then he pressed his mouth to hers. Their arms came around each other, and it looked to Diaval as though they were trying to eat each other’s faces.

Oh. _Oh._ This was the kissing thing. The mouths pressed together thing that Maleficent had told him about a few years before. It looked violent, but the humans seemed to be enjoying it. Diaval hopped across the mezzanine a ways to get a closer look.

Curious. Now they were taking off each other’s clothing. Was this a part of kissing too? Maleficent hadn’t mentioned that part. Diaval tilted his head again and peered at them, intrigued.

The male human had a chest like his, although this one did not bear the scars of fights and falls and a furious desire to live. His chest was hairy, though, like an animal. He was behaving like something of an animal too, tugging at the female’s clothing impatiently.

Had Diaval had eyebrows in this form, he would certainly have raised them when he regarded the female human. Her chest was nothing like his. It was sort of swollen in places, as though she had been stung by a pair of bees, but the swelling did not seem to pain her. Quite the opposite; she was encouraging the male to touch the swellings on her chest, and he was doing so with gusto.

Was this normal? How could it be normal to look as though you had been attacked by bees?

Diaval had all but decided that it could not possibly be normal when it dawned on him that his mistress’ chest, although always hidden beneath her clothing, had a shape which would suggest that she had these swellings too. Perhaps it _was_ normal. Perhaps it was a female thing.

He felt a little funny, thinking about his mistress’ chest.

The humans had divested themselves of the remainder of their clothing, and Diaval found himself shocked anew. The male had a crotch-maggot, as he did, but this one looked entirely different. Where Diaval’s was soft and squishy, this man’s was long and stiff, poking out at an angle from his body. Was he ill? He didn’t look to be in pain, but it looked painful from where Diaval was sitting.

This was very confusing indeed. He felt that perhaps he should make a quiet exit, but he was intrigued by the humans. What were they _doing_?

By now, the female had laid upon the straw on the floor of the barn and the male had laid on top of her, between her legs. He was moving up and down upon her, grunting and moaning, and she was yelping in delight. Diaval froze, utterly bewildered. Were they fighting? They looked to be enjoying themselves far too much to be fighting. But if not fighting, then what were they-?

It hit him like a thunderclap, and he felt like the greatest fool to ever soar the skies for not realizing it from the first. They were _mating_. Of course.

He’d seen animals doing it, of course. Cows and horses and sheep, as well as other birds. Birds didn’t have these strange appendages, and it was a straightforward affair, a touching of cloacas and that was it. He’d seen bulls mounting cows as he’d flown around Perceforest, but had never bothered to look closely at the mechanics of it all. It wasn’t his business, after all, as he wasn’t a bull and frankly hoped that he never would be.

So this was how the humans made their babies. A rough sort of affair. They seemed to like it, though, they were getting quite loud indeed.

The female squealed and shook. The male roared and pounded into her dramatically, before rolling off of her and laying beside her in the straw. _Oh, they’re done,_ thought Diaval. _That was interesting._

He was intrigued by the crotch-maggot. It was starting to look more like his, now, all squishy-looking and soft. His crotch-maggot didn’t go all stiff like that, though. Or did it? He’d never engaged in mating behavior in his human form, so maybe it did and he’d just never needed it to? Clearly, though, it had another purpose besides peeing from, and Diaval was fascinated. He wanted to go back to the Moors and sneak off and play with it for a bit to see what it did.

He had more questions now than answers, and no idea how to find out more. He certainly couldn’t ask his mistress – he sensed that this was not a topic of which she would speak freely. There was nobody else to ask, though, so his questions would have to go unanswered. For now.

He would certainly be paying more attention to the habits of the humans from now on, though.


	8. Diaval Discovers... Crotch-Maggots Are Fun, But Realizations Are Not

At any other time, Diaval would have been delighted that his mistress didn’t seem to want him anywhere but by her side. She seemed to have a sixth sense for knowing when he wanted to be alone, though, and would seldom let him out of her sight when he did.

The worst part of it, though, was that she was keeping him in his human form a lot of the time, and it was only in his raven-shape that he was allowed any sort of freedom. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t have bothered him at all, but alone time as a human was what he needed, and somehow he didn’t think that “Please leave me to myself as a human so that I can play with my crotch-maggot” would go down especially well with her.

“Diaval.” Her voice pierced his thoughts.

“Yes, Mistress?”

“I’m going to the hot pools to bathe. I will be a while – would you like me to change you back?”

“Uh, no, Mistress. I’ll potter around here and see if I can do anything useful. You won’t need me for anything?”

“No, Diaval. Crippled a fae as I may be, I still remember how to wash myself.”

Diaval ducked his head to try and hide the blush which crept up his cheeks. He watched her shadow turn and walk away in the direction of the hot pools, her footfalls becoming softer as she left.

He counted twenty beats of his heart, and she was out of sight.

Looking around, Diaval spotted a small cavern, barely large enough for him in his man-shape, beneath a rocky outcrop. It would do. He sensed that this sort of exploration was perhaps improper to be doing in full view of the denizens of the Moors.

He tucked himself into the cavern, kneeling in the dirt, and untied the laces on his pants. He’d gotten far better at tying and untying knots over the years, thankfully. He dropped his pants to his knees and surveyed the territory.

It was still a hideous thing, the crotch-maggot, although he’d become accustomed to its presence and seldom gave it any thought anymore. Beneath it lay a sort of bag with a pair of round things in it. He cupped them and squeezed hard – and yelped in pain. _Okay, don’t do that, that hurts!_

Diaval squeezed far more gently, and found that a soft touch was more pleasant. _Far_ more pleasant, actually. He rolled the round things around carefully. It was rather nice.

Turning his attention to the maggot above, he grasped it in his other hand and tried the gentle squeezing motion which had felt so nice on the sack part.

_Ooh._

That was interesting.

Tingling. He was tingling all down his spine and, it seemed, into his crotch. He squeezed again, following it up with a careful stroke, and he felt the maggot pulse in his hand. He repeated the motion, and it pulsed again.

Diaval continued to stroke and gently squeeze the maggot, varying his motions as he gained confidence. He watched in breathless fascination as it began to swell and lengthen, feeling ever harder in his hand.

So it _could_ do that.

He could mate as a human, if he wanted to. His parts worked as they should. He could do it.

Not that there was another being that he would want to mate _with_ , mind you. The only females he knew were Aurora, who was a wee toddling thing, and Maleficent, who was…

…bathing. Right that very moment. Naked as the day she was born.

Gods above.

Images of his mistress with water dripping down her naked body besieged Diaval’s imagination, and he groaned as the maggot stiffened even further. His hand moved as though controlled by an unknown force, stroking and squeezing and rubbing. He moved his thumb to the tip, finding moisture there, and he spread it down to ease the friction and let his hand glide. It felt _good_. Incredible. His heart was racing and his breathing grew ever more ragged, his other hand bracing him against the wall of the cavern.

Diaval had no control anymore. All he could think about was the pleasure rocking him to the core, the tight coil within his belly threatening to spring, and his mistress, his lovely mistress, and her beautiful skin and silky hair and eyes like gemstones as he pumped and pulled and groaned. How had he never realized how desirable she was before? How had he not realized how attracted he was to her? In his imagination, he ran his hands over her skin, over the swellings on her chest, down to the mystery which awaited him between her thighs. His mind pulled her into a desperate kiss.

Her body beneath his, like the humans in the barn. He imagined it; he craved it.

A strangled cry tore from his throat as his hand lost its rhythm; he was too far gone to think. He could only feel, and he had never felt anything so incredible in his life. Thrusting his hips against his hand, Diaval sobbed as ecstasy cascaded through his body and he felt the maggot erupt, spilling onto his hand and into the dust.

For several long minutes, he couldn’t move, gasping for air and reeling from the aftershocks of the madness which had seized him.

Finally, he came back to himself. The maggot was beginning to soften, but he was covered in a slimy white goo that wasn’t there before. It must have come from the maggot. He wiped his hand on the wall of the cavern and tucked the maggot back into his pants.

Diaval was upset.

It wasn’t right of him to be thinking about his mistress that way, even if it felt amazing. It wasn’t right. He was her servant, and nothing more, and it didn’t matter if he found her breathtakingly beautiful or that being with her made him happier than at any other time, or that all he wanted to do was make her happy for as long as he lived, _it wasn’t right_.

He was her servant, and she was his mistress. He shouldn’t be imagining mating her, because she would never do such a thing with him.

Diaval let out a ragged breath. As much as human things intrigued him, he couldn’t help but feel that this particular human thing should have been left alone. He knew now that his human form was capable of giving him intense pleasure, and that mating in this form should also be a truly wonderful experience, but now that he knew, he wasn’t sure that knowing was a good thing.

How could he look her in the eye now?

He would have to conceal it. Never let on that he found her stunning and desirable, or that he admired her quickness of wit or the gentle kindness which she hid beneath a façade of ice and feigned malice, or that he preferred her company to all others…

Oh no.

_Oh no._

Diaval sank down into the dirt, his head in his hand as the realization struck him.

He’d fallen in love.

_Oh no._


	9. Diaval Discovers... The Written Word

Diaval probably didn’t need to be sitting quite this close to his mistress, but she wasn’t objecting to it, and the warmth radiating from her body was rather lovely. That warmth and the delightful floral scent which seemed to radiate from her were very distracting indeed, and Diaval found himself having to concentrate very hard in order to focus. She would know immediately if he became distracted; she always did.

He turned the page of the large book that he’d painstaking hauled back from the Perceforest castle library over the course of the entire previous day, owing to the sheer size of the thing. He’d considered stealing a different, smaller book as he had done the past few times, but he simply couldn’t leave a book with such a lovely title as _Bird Species of Perceforest and Surrounds_ behind.

\---

Two months earlier, Diaval and Maleficent had been hiding behind a tree, watching the towheaded blonde Aurora sitting outside of the cottage with a book of letters, a slate and a piece of chalk. The princess had recently turned six years old, and since then, she could often be found deep in study, muttering to herself and occasionally calling upon her aunts to help her.

“What is she doing, Mistress?” Diaval asked Maleficent, peering at the princess curiously.

“She’s learning her letters. She’s learning how to read.”

“What’s read?”

Maleficent turned to look at him. “I suppose you wouldn’t know, would you? Have you seen the scrawling scribble which the humans make with their quills? On parchment? Or their books, like the one that the Beastie is holding?”

“Yes.”

“Being able to decipher those scrawls is reading. Privileged human children are permitted to learn it.”

“Oh. Can you read?” Diaval asked.

“I was taught.” Maleficent replied stiffly.

“But you’re a fae. Why were you taught?”

She glared at him, but softened. “Strategy, mostly. Being able to read the plans of humans before they committed to an attack was considered by those who educated me in childhood to be a useful skill.”

“I suppose it would be.” Diaval replied. He thought for a moment, and continued, “So, in that case, Mistress, is reading something that I should learn to do too? Because if the humans don’t speak or act in a way which lets me know what they’re doing or planning, I can’t really tell you much. Right now they could have a battle plan in plain sight, and I wouldn’t even know what I was looking at.”

Maleficent stared at him for a long moment before replying. “That’s a very sensible suggestion, Diaval. I would even go so far as to say _clever_ , at the risk of having you preen and strut over it. Yes, you should learn to read. As soon as possible, in fact.”

“How do I learn?”

“Like the Beastie, first you must start by learning the letters, and the sounds that they make. Once you know that, you can join the sounds together to make the words.” 

Maleficent scratched the end of her staff in a bare patch of dirt, making six distinct shapes on the ground.

“That one and that one are the same as each other.” Diaval commented, pointing to the third and fifth marks. “What does it say?”

“That is your name written down, Diaval. The two that look the same are the same letter. D – I – A- V – A – L.”

Diaval grinned at the name-marks. “So that first one, that makes the ‘duh’ part of Diaval?”

“It does.” Maleficent almost – _almost_ smiled at him. “It also makes the ‘duh’ sound in ‘dark’, and ‘drink’ and…” she smirked, “In ‘ _dog’_ …”

“Wait, what?”

“Enough of that.” She scraped her staff over the name-marks in the dirt, erasing them.

“Why did you do that?” Diaval asked, not bothering to hide his disappointment.

“We can’t leave any sign that we’ve been here. I’m going to change you now, and I want you to go to the castle a find a book – any book will do. Bring it back to the nest, and we will begin teaching you to read immediately. The sooner you learn the skill, the sooner you will be of more use to me.”

Diaval nodded with a smile, and his mistress raised her fingers, swirling with gold magic. A raven once more, he took flight and soared toward the castle in Perceforest to find just the right book.

\---

Maleficent pointed to a line of black scrawl which spread across the page, below a detailed drawing of a common raven. “What does this say?”

Diaval grinned, and slowly deciphered the scrawl into meaningful words. “The c-common raven – hey, that says raven! – is a larg-eh-”

“Large.”

“Large. Large bird wh-which in-inhab-inhabits – inhabits – most of the k-k… Mistress, what is this word?”

“Known. The K is silent.”

“What’s the point of that?”

“Humans, Diaval. Humans. Keep going.”

“Known wor-world. They are am-among the most int-intell-intelligent bird sp-species. Well, I’m glad that they got that right.”

“Vain bird. Remind me again why I agreed to teach you to read?”

Diaval chuckled. He’d learned to read haltingly in just two months, and he hoped that she was impressed with his intelligence. Not that it mattered, of course, because he was absolutely not courting her at all, so his displays of intelligence had nothing to do with that. Nothing at all.

Still, though.

He knew that she was proud of him, even if she never said it aloud.

That would do for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm running out of ideas, kids. Anyone want to throw one in my general direction?


	10. Diaval Discovers... Dreams Are Seldom What They Seem

_“Diaval!” came his mistress’ voice from the clearing._

_“Yes, Mistress?” Diaval replied, instantly at attention._

_“I’m bored. Into a rabbit!”_

_Diaval grunted in irritation as he felt himself shrink, his hands morphing into soft black paws. Just because she was bored? Did that make it all right to change him into a fluffy hoppy thing?_

_“No… no, that won’t do. Into a weasel!”_

_He changed again. What had gotten into her? She knew that he hated it when she changed him without good reason. The weasel shape was even worse. He smelled terrible._

_“No, I don’t like you as a weasel. Into a lizard!”_

_Again and again, Diaval felt himself change form, with some changes happening so quickly that he barely had a moment to adjust to each. Finally, she changed him back into a man._

_“Mistress, STOP!” he cried. She pouted._

_Suddenly a noise from behind her caught her attention. A violent wind surrounded her, blowing up dust and leaves, and Diaval had to shield his face to avoid it flying into his eyes. He heard a gasp from Maleficent, a cry, and then the wind died down. He lowered his arm and stared._

_Diaval’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her, and he fell to his knees in awe._

_Her face was an expression of wonder and disbelief. Joy radiated from every part of her, and no wonder. Twelve feet wide, majestic and strong and beautiful, arching from her back as though they had never been taken from her…_

_On his knees in wonder before her, his chest tight with overwhelming joy which threatened to burst from him and envelop the world, Diaval gasped ecstatically, “Mistress… your wings…!”_

Diaval’s eyes flew open, the feeling of joy in his chest so intense as to almost be choking. He lay beneath the shade of an oak tree, gasping, and wondering why on Earth everything was suddenly blurry. What was happening? Where was he? Where was his mistress? Why… why was his face wet?

“Mistress!” he called, his voice somewhat higher than usual. “Mistress!”

Water continued to spill from his eyes as he called her, looking around frantically for a sign of her presence. His breath came in sobbing gasps.

“Diaval? Whatever is the matter with you?”

“Mistress!” Diaval cried, “My face is leaking! There’s water pouring out of my eyes…” he stopped, and the confusion on his face crumpled into horror. “Mistress… where are your wings?”

Maleficent stared at him in disgust. “Stefan stole them, Diaval. You _know_ that.” she snarled.

“But… but… you got them back! They came back! They were so beautiful…” The water spilling from Diaval’s eyes increased as confusion and sadness overwhelmed the elation that he had felt. “What happened to them? Where did they go?”

He was giving in to hysteria, but he couldn’t stop himself. Nothing made sense. She’d gotten her wings back, and now they were gone again, and she didn’t seem to remember getting them back at all, and water kept flowing from his eyes and his chest was tight and it was hard to breath and his throat hurt and his nose was starting to leak too and _what in the name of raven feathers was going on_?!

Maleficent, to her credit, took pity on him and sat beside him on the ground. She hesitated for a moment, then reached over and put her hand on his back, stroking in firm circles to calm him as she might have done when he was in his raven form.

“Were you sleeping?” she asked gently.

Diaval sniffled, blinking up at the quietly shifting oak leaves. “I think so?”

“You don’t often sleep in your human form.”

“No.” he replied shakily, “You usually change me back. I was lying under the tree before… I must have fallen asleep.”

“Do you see things in your mind when you’re asleep in your raven shape?”

“See things? What sort of things?”

“All sorts of things. I suppose you probably don’t, you’re far too disorientated right now for this to be normal for you. I think you were dreaming, Diaval.”

“What’s dreaming?” Diaval sniffed.

“It’s when you see things in your mind when you’re asleep. They’re not real, but they often feel very real until you awaken. Humans dream, so you would too, in your human form. Most of the time, you wouldn’t even recall your dreams, unless there were especially frightening…”

“Or beautiful?” Diaval whispered.

Maleficent paused, holding his gaze for a moment. “What did you dream about?”

Diaval bit his lip. The water was coming again. He let out a shaky breath.

“You. You were changing me into things… and then there was a wind around you, and when I looked at you again…” the water flowed freely from his eyes at the memory, “Your wings. You had your wings. They were so beautiful, Mistress, and you were so happy…” Diaval broke off with a sob. Between the memory of true joy and the realization that none of it had been real, he couldn’t control his own reactions anymore.

“Oh Diaval…” Maleficent sighed.

“W-why are m-my eyes l-leaking?” Diaval sobbed, “I th-think I’m s-s-sick!”

“You’re not sick, Diaval. You’re crying.” Diaval noticed that Maleficent’s eyes had started to glisten as well. “It’s… it’s a reaction that humans have. And fae.” she breathed.

“It’s _n-normal_? How is l-leaking from your eyes _normal_ , M-mistress?” Diaval bit his lip again, harder this time, trying to stop his stupid eyes from spilling any more water down his face. He felt completely foolish for allowing this to happen.

“It’s not something that you can help – it just happens when you feel strong emotions. Sadness. Loneliness. Happiness.”

“I was s-so happy to see you with y-your wings, Mistress.” Diaval whispered, wiping the water from his eyes. She looked at her knees and didn’t reply. “And th-then you didn’t have them, and…” Diaval had no words to describe the grief he’d felt in that moment. He shook his head and closed his rebellious eyes.

Maleficent moved her hand to his shoulder and gently squeezed before pulling away.

“Save your tears, little bird. They won’t change anything.”

“Crying is bad?”

Maleficent hesitated again. “No… but it doesn’t change anything.”

Diaval nodded and said nothing as he tried to steady his breathing. He realized that in all his years of service to her, he had never once seen Maleficent cry, despite her having every reason to do so. He wasn’t sure that it was strength that kept her from it, though.

“Come on.” Maleficent said suddenly, “Go and wash your face, and we’ll find a patch of blackberries.” She stood briskly, and indicated the nearby stream with an inclination of her head.

It was moments later, as he splashed the cool water on his face, that Diaval realized that finding a patch of blackberries wasn’t about getting a snack at all. _Why Maleficent, Mistress of All Evil, Queen of Darkness and Curser of Babies, you’re trying to make me feel better._

If only he could do the same for her.


End file.
